Helga Pataki: Goalie
by Your Other Favorite Author
Summary: Helga's been playing ice hockey since Arnold left for San Lorenzo, and after six years she has done everything to bury his memory. But when he returns, will Helga be able to keep up her charade? Or will her feelings get the best of her again? Ch. 4 up
1. Chapter 1

The tiniest bead of sweat dropped from the tip of her nose, falling between the crisscrossed titanium bars of the mask only to disappear into the frozen bed of ice beneath. Deep, methodic breaths are heard as she stared down at the blue-paint in front of the goal. She stood there, crouched over; silent. Her bright blue eyes closed momentarily to shut out the world to focus on the situation. A tied score had pushed the game into overtime, and now, into a shootout. Each team would use three players to shoot on the goalie one-on-one. Two shooters had their chance against her-and neither of them prevailed. Only one left. If he misses, the game is over. Her team would have won. _She_ would have won.

The all too familiar sound of the referee whistle echoes down the rink, its rigid, ear-splitting shriek breaking her silent thoughts and forcing her to quickly come back to reality. It was now or never.

Her eyes shot open, head lifting up with only a focusing stare radiating from her hidden face. Her stance widened, causing her body to slide outward from her position. She stared: eyes fixed on the red jersey skating towards her with the tenacity of a burning flame. The black, rubber saucer he pushed along the ice came ever closer to its proper home-the back of the net. Not today, she thought, this is _my_ game.

She inched backwards now as the shooter closed in. He moved the puck side to side with each stride, his own eyes fixed on she who stood between him and the empty net behind her. He watched her every move, looking for an open space. Glove side? No, she had that covered. Stick side? Again, still no daylight. Through the legs; five-hole? She was already in a wide stance-ready to drop down and butterfly in a split-second. Less and less time to choose as the space between them grew ever smaller. A quick deke would be his best option in this case. Trying to fake a goalie out is usually successful. _Usually._

Her leg-pads dropped to the ice, her thighs squeezing their ends together as she dropped down into the butterfly position. The shooter was only several feet away and had not shot yet. She almost pondered the thought before suddenly the entire scenario slowed down, like the slow motion segment of a movie. She found herself able to move freely and quickly, as if this now sluggish passage of time had no effect on her, but only on everything else. The puck slid towards her no faster than a snail could run, but she could not help but think exactly who was shooting against her. She normally made that a point beforehand-to know who she would face-to know their tendencies. But this...this was different. She had no clue who this was or how he would take his shot. Then, as if to try an answer this question, her eyes slowly drifted up from the puck and up to the shooter's face, trying to see if she could see who it was.

She squinted some behind her mask as his face came into view more. That remarkably foot-ball shaped head and shreds of blonde hair under his helmet were a remarkably familiar trait, but her brain could not tell why. She studied him more as he approached; now seeming to gain speed. The slowed time now had begun to slide back towards real-time reality. Just as she looked up at his eyes, he looked back at hers. And then it hit her. A sudden chill went down her spine-a shivering array of goose bumps sliding down her arms and legs at the realization. What the hell was _he_ doing here? She had virtually no time to ponder the thought as the time sped back up to normal speed. She gasped sharply, noticing he was about to take his shot-and she was nowhere near the right position to stop it. The puck was now headed for an open net. She dove out to stop the flying puck, kicking one of her leg pads out in desperation.

Thud. The puck smacked into the top-half of her pad and fumbled into the air, rolling before plopping back onto the ice. It now inched toward the red line between the goal posts. She gasped deeper this time, realizing its path and diving towards the puck behind her. Her glove reached out again to pounce on it; to pull it into the safety of her pads.

It barely began to touch the goal line, her glove inches from it, when a sudden, loud buzzing blasted through the rink with a rhythmic tempo, it's straining echoes bringing complete darkness with them. With a deep breath and groggy moan, the blonde-haired girl rolled over in her bed, her arm slithering out from the covers and bringing a finger to click off her morning alarm clock. She buried her face into the pillow, wanting only to continue her dream-filled slumber. The goose bumps were still on her arms even amidst the warm cover of her blanket. The tension in her back muscles released finally, letting her relax briefly in bed.

All too soon the familiar, almost nasally voice called from the stairs.

"Hel-ga! Get-uh-hup!"

Miriam. She always had perfect timing, didn't she? Helga grunted under her breath, forcing an eye half-open.

"Okay, okay! I'm getting up! Criminy..." She cursed the morning. It always came too soon.

Helga pushed herself up onto her palms, glancing over at the clock. Seven A.M. It's too early for this crap, she thought. She sighed, irritated, before kicking off her covers and getting out of bed. Today was the start of a new week at school-something Helga preferred to go without, frankly. She never cared much for school, and wanted to spend as little time and effort there as possible. There were more important things in her life now. Especially since _him_... She shook her head, lightly, purging the thought away. That was almost six years ago now. He was gone. It didn't matter...right? Right.

She proceeded to put on her daily outfit. She slid on her pink socks at the edge of her bed. She grabbed her blue jeans off the back of her vanity chair and put them on. Thumbing through her closet briefly, she pulled out a gray t-shirt bearing a faded, unreadable logo. Finally, she slid on her royal blue baseball cap, adorned with the Saint Louis Blues hockey team logo on the front. Though typically not a Blues fan (having grown up in New York Rangers territory), the Saint Louis logo reflected something she thought abandoned her a long time ago: _hope._

Helga shuffled down the stairs, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a quick slice of toast for breakfast. She gulped a glass of orange juice before grabbing her jacket and book bag near the front door. The brisk November air howled at the doorway, making it just slightly more difficult to close, and proving that her thin jacket was indeed not sufficient. Helga didn't care. She played ice hockey. She was used to the cold. The faint sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. Cold _and_ rainy. Perfect. Helga sighed, glancing up at the grey sky with her usual empty expression before stepping down the stoop and onto the sidewalk. She zipped up her jacket a little further for warmth.

Her mind began to wander. Today was the first game of the season for her team-and she was the starting goaltender. Helga had practiced since the end of last season, improving her skills for this year all summer long. Why? This year was special. College teams would be scouting for valuable players. They might scout her team. They might draft her. They just might even offer her a _scholarship_.

Scholarship. There was a word that Helga never thought would have any meaning for her. Her whole life had been nothing special to speak of. Her schoolwork grades reflected this and her overall attitude towards her school. But now things were different. When Dr. Bliss recommended Helga to find a hobby, she was skeptical, to say the least. Perhaps, even, defiant at first.

After finding herself at one of the school's hockey games, however, her thoughts quickly changed. She actually _enjoyed _watching it. More specifically, she enjoyed watching the goalies. That position somehow spoke to her. What was it about letting people shoot rubber pucks at you that caught her eye? One could speculate; perhaps it was the nobility of the position, or the simplicity of it. But Helga saw the real value in the job: being the difference maker. The goalie keeps the puck out of the net: the difference between a goal and a save: the difference between winning and losing. Suddenly it mattered. Suddenly, _she _mattered...

Helga decided to give it a try, and now four years later, she is the starting goaltender for her high school hockey team. Some would call it remarkable. Helga was just happy to actually be noticed for a change. Especially since _he_ left... Helga winced at the thought of him, stopping in mid-step and letting out an exacerbated sigh.

"Get out of my head!" she spat out through clenched teeth. The thought of him was not something she was prepared to tolerate now. Just then, a delicate, squeaky voice called her name.

"Helga?" Helga's eyes shot open; head twirling around in the direction of the voice. Phoebe. Helga sighed, relieved. The one thing in her life that seemed normal.

"Hey, Pheebs," Helga greeted her casually, bearing a half-smile. Phoebe had not changed much since their grade-school days. Same smarts, same personality, same outfit. Some things never change.

"Are you okay, Helga?" Phoebe always

Helga immediately scoffed, turning away.

"I'm fine." Helga spat out in an oddly monotone voice.

"Are you sure? I heard you yelling-"

"I'm _fine_, Phoebe." Helga interrupted, glaring at her friend with annoyed eyes. Phoebe backed off the subject, biting her bottom lip. After a few steps, Helga chirped up.

"I'm sorry, Phoebe. I'm just stressed out about the game tonight."

"Stressed? But you've never been stressed before for a game."

The two crossed the street in front of the school.

"This is different," Helga protested.

"How?"

Helga paused. "It's the first game of the year and I want to start off right."

The two stopped in front of the school concrete steps.

"Oh. I thought it was because of...well, you know..." Phoebe blinked at Helga, who did not understand what was implied.

"What?"

Phoebe rolled her eyes nervously.

"..._Ice cream_?"

Helga blinked. Suddenly the realization hit her.

"Ph-Phoebe!" She exclaimed at her friend, brow crossed. "I told you to never bring him up! Ever!" Helga yelled at her best friend. Phoebe sank down, wincing at Helga's outburst.

"I-I'm sorry, Helga," Phoebe chirped up, "I just thought... I mean, it'll be six years tomorrow..."

Helga shook her head, gritting her teeth.

"I don't give a shit, Pheebs. _Ice cream'_s dead to me. Being a goalie is all I care about now, okay? Just forget it." Helga spat out, crossing her arms over her chest before turning to stomp up the front steps of the school on her way to class, leaving Phoebe behind.

Phoebe sighed, looking down at her feet.

"Forgetting," she muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

The final class bell sounded, signaling the end of the school day. It's shrill sound echoed through the hallways. Students filed out of their classrooms, fillng these same halls, the shuffling noise of crowds and scuffing shoes quickly drowning out the school bell.

Helga casually shuffled down the main hallway, backpack over her shoulder, heading out the front doors of her high school. The mass of students did the same, all anxious to leave the assumed 'prison of youth' most called high school. Helga slid off to the side, leaning against one of the rusted iron stair railings, lending the right of way to the flood of students around her. Helga looked on with an uninterested expression, watching as the students filed in to busses, cars, and some even walking home. The concrete glistened, tainted by the stains of rain from an earlier shower that day. A faint thunder rumbled in the distance.

Helga slid a hand into her pocket to pull out her cellphone. A new message from...Phoebe?

"Meet your house. Need to talk."

Helga quirked a brow. Phoebe rarely ever said that unless it was something serious. Shoving her phone back into her pocket, Helga quickly began her walk home. The sound of thunder, looming closer now. A raindrop blipped onto Helga's nose. Helga winced, her shoulders dropping in.

"Fuuuuuuuck..." she grunted. She knew what was coming. And it did. The sound of falling water droplets grew louder each second.

"Seriously?" She scoffed rhetorically to herself.

Thick, heavy drops of rain dotted the pavement as she quickened her steps. The rain fell harder-and quickly caught up to her. In a swift motion, Helga reached back to flip up her hood over her head; the bill of her Blues hat still sticking out from under the hood. Shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, she trudged on, cursing her luck as she hastily jogged home.

Phoebe loitered under the Pataki's front door over-hang, edged up right next to the door attempting to escape the downpour of rain. She glanced back and forth, waiting for Helga patiently. She checked her watch. Where the hell is she, Phoebe thought to herself. At last, a gray figure came into view from up the sidewalk, hurriedly jogging her way. She could make out what she assumed to be Helga through the rain; the blue hat under her the hood made it obvious. Helga paced up the steps, keys in hand. She quickly opened the front door for the two of them and they hurried in. Helga hastily closed the door before leaning back against it, panting slightly.

Phoebe held back a giggle, seeing Helga soaking form. Why is the misfortune of others funny?

"The precipitation got you, didn't it?"

Phoebe asked, smiling.

Flipping back her hood, Helga scoffed.

"No I just decided to run through the sprinkler."

Her sarcasm was heavy. Phoebe nodded. Helga took off her damp jacket, hanging it up on the nearby coat rack. Helga then made her way into the kitchen, Phoebe following behind.

"So I got your message, Pheebs. What's up?"

Helga was quick to jump on the subject; she was unusually straightforward for being a girl. Phoebe stood in the archway of the kitchen, hands in her pockets-something she only did when she was nervous. Helga took note of this.

"Well...I know I planned to attend your important game is this evening..." Phoebe looked off to the side, reluctant to look right at Helga. Helga raised a brow in return. Something was definitely up.

"Okay...?"

"Well," Phoebe responded slowly, "Gerald asked to take me on a date tonight..." Phoebe bit her lip, now meeting eyes with Helga, unsure of what her reaction would be. Pheobe rarely ditched Helga for a boy, especially on such an occasion.

Helga paused for a moment, conflicted on what to say. Part of her was in disbelief that Pheobe, her best friend, was choosing Gerald over her. Did anyone care about what was important to Helga? On the other hand, Phoebe was always there for Helga, even when she didn't deserve it. And after her angry outburst at Phoebe that morning, Helga could see why Phoebe would avoid her.

"Okay."

Phoebe looked surprised. Even Helga felt a bit shocked at how casual that sounded, even if she was good at hiding her feelings.

"R-really?" Phoebe asked, almost in disbelief. Helga nodded.

"Yeah. It's cool." Helga shrugged, playing it off as no big deal.

"Gosh, thanks, Helga. To be perfectly honest, I thought you'd be mad."

Helga scoffed, shaking her head slightly. "Tss, nah. You go have fun. You can just come to another game this year."

Phoebe paused for a moment, completely shocked by Helga's apparent easy-going reaction to the situation.

"Well, alright Helga. I appreciate it." She smiled at her friend, feeling ecstatic inside that she would get to go out with Gerald. Suddenly, a faint honk was heard coming from outside.

"Oh, that must be him. I told him to pick me up from here."

Helga nodded. Great. Why don't you just take everyone away from me, God, Helga thought to herself. Phoebe swiftly walked over to Helga, giving her a quick hug.

"Bye Helga. Good luck at your game tonight."

Helga forced a half smile, nodding slowly.

"Thanks, Pheebs. You too." And with that, Phoebe jogged down the front hallway and out the front door to a waiting Gerald, idling in his car. As the door closed behind her, Helga sighed heavily, staring down at the counter. She really was all alone now. Even her best friend abandoned her. Helga stood there in the kitchen momentarily, her mind running away with these thoughts, making her feel more depressed. Making her wish things could go back to the way they were before... _when Arnold was still here. _

Helga clenched her eyes tightly, biting her bottom lip. Her chin trembled some as she stood there, thoughts racing back to Arnold; specifically when they dated shortly after their return from San Lorenzo. She was the happiest she had ever been. _Was._ Until he left, returning to San Lorenzo to live with his parents.

"Dammit, Arnold, why did you have to leave..." Helga spat out to no one in particular. She

He promised her he would return soon; that he would come back for her. She trusted him. She always trusted him. One year after he was gone, nothing. Two years: nothing. Now six years later, and Helga still felt her heart ache for him, even if he did abandon her.

Helga sniffled, holding back a tear. She stood up straight at last, taking a deep breath and opening her eyes. Recomposing herself, she shooed away these thoughts and brought herself back to reality. She glanced over at the clock. Four thirty-five. Helga gasped.

"Criminy! I better go! Game starts at six." Helga frequently talked to herself. She found it calming. And, as weird as it seems, she needed as much calmness as she can get.


	3. Chapter 3

The lights in the rink dimmed. The spotlight focused on the hallway to the locker room. The dramatic music blared through the speakers. It was game time. The teams lined up behind the benches in their respective hallways. Helga took a deep breath as she stood at the front of the line. Staring out at the rink, hearing the announcer thunder his voice through the speakers, she bit her lip. Tonight was the night to start things right. It was their time. It was _her_ time.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, YOUR HILLWOOOOOD RRRRAVENS**!"  
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The booming voice of the announcer echoed throughout the stadium, bringing the supporting crowd to their feet, applause and whistles flooding the rink. Helga wasted no time in delighting the cheering crowd to her team's presence on the ice. She hurriedly stepped her way out of the tunnel and onto the ice, skating a lap around their end of the rink before gliding over to her accustomed spot - in front of the goal.

She set her water bottle and stick on the top of the net before turning and facing away from the twine of the goal. She dropped to her knees and slid side-to-side, loosening herself and stretching for the imminent game. Her eyes shut momentarily, bringing silence to her head. Focus. She needed to focus tonight. The puck is mine. It is in my hand. All my work has brought me here. This is what I was meant to do. I will succeed. All of these thoughts flooded her head as she prepared the ice in front of the net.

At last, the lights grew brighter and the referee blew his whistle to start the period. Helga turned and grabbed her stick. And, taking a light smack at either crossbar to her side, leaned forward to watch the opening face-off.

The puck dropped. Sticks clacked against one another as the players battled for possession. Finally one of them did-and it would have to be the opposing team. The puck was quickly passed to another teammate, who had snuck his way along the sideboards and brought the puck into her end rather easily. Of course, Helga thought to herself. She glided out of her crease, attentively facing the shooter and waiting for him to take his shot. One of her team's trailing defensemen tried to lift his stick, but to no avail. The skater evaded him and closed in on the goal.

"Looks like I'm gonna have to do it then," she thought to herself.

She slid backwards slightly as he advanced towards the goal. Then, just as he was about to shoot, he quickly passed the puck right in front of her to the opposite side. An opposing teammate wound up for a quick slap shot and fired the puck directly at the net. Helga dove across the crease, snatching the blistering puck out of midair with her glove. She fell to the ice on her side and quickly balled her glove up in her midsection to smother it. The referee blew the whistle-the play was now stopped.

The crowd applauded the spectacular save, some patrons even standing to their feet. Her teammates banged their sticks on the benches as she stood up, opening her glove to the referee for him to take the puck for another face-off. She looked over at the opposing player who took the shot on her. He was on one knee, shaking his head in disbelief. He thought for sure that would have been in. On an average goalie, that might have worked. But Helga was anything but average.

On the next face off, her teammates gained possession of the puck. And quickly carried it out of their end and across the rink to the other net. Helga retreated deep into her crease and watched the play from her end of the ice. She watched a smart pass come to one of the defensemen at the blue line, who wound up for a hard slap shot, which promptly found its way to the back of the other net. The goal horn blasted through the loud speakers as the crowd erupted in a frenzy of cheers and applause. Her teammates skated down the bench, high-fiveing one another in celebration of their work. Helga tapped her stick on the ice before turning to grab quick drink from her water bottle. The next face off was now back at center ice. This is how the game will be tonight, she thought, end-to-end action.

And it was.

The teams battled it out, both getting decent scoring chances on either side, but nothing too threatening. At last, the buzzer signaled the end of the first period. The zamboni made its way out on to the ice as the teams cleared the rink. Helga and her teammates filed back down the hallway into the locker room for the intermission. She shuffled her way into the room, plopping down in her spot and taking off her goalie helmet. She sighed heavily, sweating some from the game. The rest of her team filed in, followed by the coach. He had a beer belly and a full head of black hair – most likely dyed- and slicked back. The creases on his forehead were sometimes distracting, and only got worse when he spoke at us. I say 'at' and not 'to' us, because you did what he said, or you didn't play. That's how he coached us. And we couldn't argue. You can't argue with seven state championships.

"You guys were playing real hard out there," the coach started, in a strangely calm way. He never gave the team compliments. Helga looked up at him with a raised brow in momentary disbelief.

"But not fucking hard enough!" he roared out. And there it was. Helga's eyes drifted down to the floor. She hated listening to him yell.

"You guys were giving them way too many chances out there. We could've gotten scored on! You have to pressure them. Don't let them get behind you out there. Okay? So pull your heads out of your asses and play some _goddamn hockey_!"

And with that, he left the room. The lines on his forehead seemed worse than ever now to Helga. She sighed quietly and sprayed her face with a quick shot of water from her bottle.

"Hey, Helga," one of her teammates, Tom, called her. She wiped her face with a towel, looking over at him.

"That was one hell of a save you made at the start," he nodded with a crooked grin on his face, "that shit was sick."

Helga gave a small chuckle at his words.

"Well what can I say; I'm just doin my job," she replied nonchalantly.

Her other teammates agreed with Tom. It was one hell of a save. The kind of save that would be on the highlight real on national TV…or at least on the school news tomorrow morning. Either way, there was no denying that Helga's preparation for this year had paid off. Now, it was a matter of keeping this pace for the rest of the season, and hopefully further.

The intermission ended and the second period began. The teams took the ice again and Helga positioned herself in front of the net. The teams butted heads and pressured each other in the neutral zone; or otherwise known as center ice. The scoring chances were few and far between, and even then none were very strong.

And then it happened.

The other team shot the puck into her team's end, and one of her defensemen came back to get it. He skated the puck to the blue line and shot it across the ice to a teammate on the other side. Just as he did so, an opposing player intercepted the pass and another snuck his stick into the defensemen's skates and deliberately tripped him. He instantly fell face-first into the ice. The referee was watching the puck and didn't see the trip occur. Angry fans in the audience stood up, jeering and booing at the referee as the other team gained possession and quickly skated into the zone-directly towards Helga.

The defensemen could not get up fast enough and now there was no defensive coverage on the two guys skating towards her. They both closed in - one on either side of her. A classic 2 on 0 rush, as they say. Helga followed the puck, keeping herself slotted between the two players as they closed in. The skater with the puck wound up for a slap shot. Helga braced herself to take the shot. Then, at the last second, he pulled up and passed the puck to his teammate, who now had a wide open net to shoot at. Helga quickly dove across the crease again, stacking her legs one on top of the other, and holding her glove as open as possible.

**THUD.**

The puck struck her leg pads and bounced back toward the center of the ice-where yet another opposing player closed in. He flew to the open puck and proceeded to shoot. Helga was way out of position here. She instantly lifted her legs up over her head, swinging them in mid-air from one side of her body to the other.

**THUD.**

The puck struck her leg pad again, this time bouncing right in front of her, where she quickly smothered it with her glove. The play stopped. The crowd rose to their feet again to applaud another incredible save. Luck or not, this save would be professional-league worthy. Her teammates tapped their sticks on the ice as the opposing players wearily made their way for another face off. Again, she had stoned them.

The rest of the period went on as it had before, with little scoring opportunities. The buzzer sounded again, signaling the end of the second period. The teams filed back to the locker rooms for a second time.

Helga stopped at the water fountain to refill her bottle. Tom approached her again.

"You keep makin' saves like that, we just might make the playoffs this year," he teased.

"Hah, right," she replied with a smile. Helga didn't let her great performance get to her head. Playing one great game doesn't make you an all-star. Making one save doesn't make you a pro. But she loved playing, and it was the best feeling in the world to her to rob someone of the satisfaction of beating her. To stand up to them and deny them any chance. To be the star for just a split second. She lived for that.

The intermission and locker room pep talk from the coach went by similar to the first. The two teams made their way back out onto the ice for the final period of the game. The score still at 1-0 from the first period had lasted and Helga prayed that it would. No, fuck that, she thought, it _will._ Prayer is for the weak. Helga shook the thought and took her place in front of the net for the final time, getting set for the onslaught of scoring chances she would no doubt have to face in this period.

The puck dropped. The other team aggressively attacked it, pushing it passed one of their players and skating it across the neutral zone. Helga glided out from her crease to face the shooter, who proceeded to fling a rather soft wrist-shot in on goal due to the defenseman pressuring him from behind. Helga scooped up the puck and covered it for a whistle after seeing an opposing player closing in on her out of the corner of her eye. The player stopped just before the goal, spraying her with a shower of ice. That was something you just don't do. Helga took a quick shove at his leg with her stick. He swatted at her pad with his stick. One of her team's defensemen shoved the guy across his chest with his stick. Suddenly the two exploded on one another, throwing off the gloves and grabbing each other. All the while, the two tried to exchange punches as the other players stood by and watched. The referee, however, was quick to break them up. The two players were both escorted off to the benches. Normal penalties went to the penalty box; they were being tossed for the rest of the game. Fighting was not tolerated in this league; something Helga never agreed with.

The game resumed, and the rest of the period went on with more scoring chances against her, than against the other goalie. She held them off, making save after save to keep her team in the game and get the win. The clocked wound down to the final minute of the game. The other team gained possession of the puck in Helga's end, and opted to pull their goalie to get an extra skater onto the ice. The other goalie quickly scooted to the bench for the extra attacker. Most goalies would think that it was time to dig deep. It was time to make sure that puck doesn't go in your net. But all Helga saw was a gaping four by six target at the other end of the rink.

One of the opposing players held the puck out near the blue line, opting to shoot the puck down along the boards and behind the net. Helga saw that no one was directly behind the net and quickly slid out of her crease to stop the puck. She pulled the puck back to her as the opposing players closed in on her, eager to steal the puck from her and put it in the now open net. Helga lingered momentarily, drawing a siren of confused jeers from the crowd. Then, just as the other team neared her, she shot the puck up and out of her end – and right for the other goal. A player on the other team raced back to try to get the puck, but it was too late. It glided across the line and right into the net. The goal horn sounded again, and the audience cheered and clapped. Helga's teammates gave her a quick tap on the back of the legs with their sticks. She thrusted an arm up in a quick celebration before recomposing herself and preparing for the next face off.

The clock ticked down to the final few seconds of the game. And at last, the horn sounded and the crowd applauded the well-fought win of the evening. Helga's teammates lined up to give her a quick congratulation before they headed back to the locker room.

The atmosphere in the locker room was ecstatic, to say the least. The first game of the season, and no doubt Helga was the big reason why they won. She knew it, but acted as if nothing had even happened. Sure, in her head, the euphoric sensation of victory filled her thoughts and even caused a light smile to sprout on her face. After all, it's hard to keep happiness bottled up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Clunk.**

Helga flung her hockey bag around her shoulder and into the trunk of her car. She shoved the rest of her paraphernalia in behind it as best she could. One of her teammates passed by her on his way to his own car.

"Hey, Helga," he waved, "nice game tonight. See ya tomorra' for practice." Helga half smiled at him, giving a lazy wave in return.

"See ya," she replied casually before closing her trunk. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out her keys as she stepped around to the door. Sliding the key in, she tried to turn to unlock it, but the key would not budge. 

"Oh, come on…" she grunted as she lifted her second hand into grip the key better. She twisted the key as hard as she could; it still would not budge.

"Criminy! You piece of crap!" She groaned out through gritted teeth. At last she pulled the key out and slid it back in, only to have it click in further than last time. Her face fell, brow now crossed. The key wasn't in all the way. This time, with a quick turn, the door unlocked with ease.

"Grr…" she grunted again as she got into her car and slammed the door in frustration. She quickly started the car and drove off.

Once home, Helga parked her car in her usual spot in the street in front of her house. She made her way up the stoop to her front door, getting slower with each step. She could hear the heated yelling of her father inside coming through the door. She sighed, her previously happy feelings now replaced with anxiety, worry.

Helga slowly opened the door and walked inside, acting as casual as she could-trying to remain invisible. That was something easy to do in this family. As she turned to lock the door, Big Bob's words only escalated. And from the sound of it, he was directing his anger at the television.

"You friggin' idiot! That's gonna cost us the whole damn game!"

Helga wondered if there was a more passionate, and equally stupid, fan of football. She quickly locked the door behind her.

"Go, go, go… Ahhhhh, mother of God! Not again…" He grunted from the living room.

Helga took off her jacket, hanging it up on the coat rack by the door. She turned and walked down the hallway, stopping at the entrance to the living room. There sat her father: wearing boxers and a sleeveless t-shirt in his big brown chair with a beer in one hand and bag of chips under the other. She stood there momentarily, glancing between him and the television. He finally noticed her.

"Oh, hi Olga," he spat out, briefly glancing in her direction before turning back to the television, "Tackle him! Take him down!"

Helga remained silent, hands in her pockets.

"Ah, mother of-" he scowled at the TV again. He looked over at her briefly.

"Yeah, yeah. How was your thing tonight?" he asked her, only half paying attention to the conversation.

Helga leaned against the archway more. She spoke in a quiet voice, practically murmuring it. "We won two to nothi-,"

"That's great," he replied quickly, interrupting her answer. Did he ever pay attention to her? "Yes! Yes! Go! YEAH! Touchdoooown!"

Helga scoffed and turned to go to the kitchen, where Miriam had passed out in over the table in one of the chairs. She didn't bother to greet her mother. She could use the extra sleep, no doubt. Instead, Helga simply went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of Gatorade, and left, walking up the stairs and into her room.

She kicked off her shoes and plopped down in her bed on her stomach, exhausted, disheartened. The praise she gained in the game from her teammates and fans still meant nothing to her parents. She was still invisible to them. They never even went to her games to support her. That was nothing new to her, however. They had always ignored her: even when she was just a toddler.

She rolled over, remembering her first day of preschool…

Her older sister impressed their parents with her piano talent, and Helga tugged on Bob's leg to take her to school. He shooed her away as usual and she decided to go by herself. The cold, rainy day only made her feel worse as she wearily made the trip to her preschool. Along the way, a large dog stole her lunchbox, leaving her without food for that day. And finally, when she made it to the school, tears welling up in her eyes, the rain stopped. Helga looked up to see a green umbrella over her head. Turning around, she saw the boy who held it for her. His light blonde hair and football shaped head flashed a friendly smile toward her.

"Hi," he greeted her, "I like your bow, cuz it's pink like your pants." And with that, he turned to go into the school. Helga stared at him walk away. He actually noticed her. He made her feel special. He was the only thing that felt right that day; the little bit of daylight on that cold, rainy morning. She instantly fell in love with him.

Helga bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes again as she lied on her mattress. She clenched her teeth together and rolled over, her bottom lip just beginning to tremble. For being good at hiding her emotions in public, she let them out from time to time in private. There, no one-not even Phoebe-would see. Helga reached over to the nightstand by her bed, setting down her Gatorade bottle. She pulled open the drawer and reached inside. She dug under a few things and finally pulled it out.

It was her old locket; the locket that still held the picture of Arnold from years ago in the frame. Helga held it in her palm, bringing it closer. She stared down at it. A faint layer of dust had collected on the golden trim, but Helga gently wiped it off with her thumb. A teardrop dotted the glass front, dripping from the end of her nose. Helga sniffled, quickly wiping her finger over the droplet.

"Dammit, Arnold," she whispered under her breath to no one, "why did you leave me? Why…?" Another tear trickled out of the corner of her eye. Unexpectedly, her cell phone buzzed on her nightstand nearby. Helga's head shot up as she reached for it. Helga sniffled a few more times, bringing a sleeve to wipe away her tears and recompose herself. Finally, she opened her phone and brought it to her ear.

"He-hello?" she stammered slightly.  
>"Hey, Helga, it's Phoebe."<p>

"Oh. Hey, Phoebs," Helga replied as casually as she could.

"How did your game go?" Apparently, Helga did just that, as Phoebe didn't notice.

"Good. We won two to nothing."

"You did? That's terrific! I'm so sorry I missed it…" At least Phoebe still cared about her.

"Oh, it's fine. How's your date with Gerald?" Helga asked in return, trying to keep the conversation moving-and not about her.

"It was great. We went to Chez Paris and then on a carriage ride through the park." Her voice got a little squeakier, which occurred when she was really happy.

"Sounds fun." Helga cracked a slight smile hearing her shrill voice.

"Oh, it most certainly was."

There was a momentary pause. Helga glanced down at the locket still in her hand; it's gold chain draping down her arm. A fresh set of tears began to fill her eyes again.

"Helga?" came the voice from the phone next to her ear.

"Yeah, Phoebs?" Helga sniffed rather loudly. Phoebe must have heard that.

"Are you okay?"

Helga sighed. She did not want to get into this right now. But what choice did she have? Before Helga could decide, she found herself speaking.

"Not really, Phoebe. I still can't get over it."

There was a pause from the other end of the line.

"Over what?" She could sense Phoebe feared what the answer might be. Helga looked down at her locket again, tears clouding her vision. She squeezed it tightly in her palm, leaning her head back against the wall.

"Never mind," she choked out.

Another pause.

"…Alright, Helga. You want me to let you go?" Phoebe always seemed to know when she needed to be alone.

"Yeah," Helga replied softly.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, Helga."

"See ya, Phoebs."

Click.

Helga sat there; looking down at the old dust-covered picture of Arnold she had kept all these years. Her face wore a blank expression, even with a tear sliding down her cheek. Of course she still loved him. She never stopped. He treated her a way no one else ever had before. She thought that maybe – just maybe – he loved her too. _Thought._

Helga sank down in her bed, rolling over and sighing heavily. Her eyes fluttered briefly, trying to hold back tears and keep her from falling asleep. Her efforts were in vain, however. The minutes passed and she grew sleepy lying there. Her eyes closed for the last time and she drifted off into sleep-the locket still in her hand all the while.


End file.
